


programming//love.js

by shurb



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hackers, Angst, Childishness, Fluff, I'll give it my best with the funny scenes, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-11-12 20:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18018236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shurb/pseuds/shurb
Summary: It appears someone keeps hacking into the Red Army's system and changing some of their data. The Red Leader is glad that whatever group is behind these dumb pranks has not yet gone too far and downloaded some of the very sensitive information with the potential to destroy all he has worked so hard for.Tord finds Patryck to be a very loyal, and also strict and an upright soldier; one who gets his work done and does it well, too. The man has often claimed he does not have any interest in love, even saying that it is useless, but as suddenly a hacker starts to contact that "heartless” guy, things do not go as anyone planned... except for the hacker's plans.





	1. Surprise

"Patryck," the Red Leader called for the man through the private phone, an old model to make it difficult for someone to listen to their conversations, "come to the communication room!" Before the other man could even answer a simple "yes, sir", his boss had already ended the call. That wasn't a good sign, though at least it was better than hearing him throw the little device against the wall like a few other times. Patryck was glad to know his decision to get a Nokia had proven to be right-- even RL couldn't destroy the little thing. So now the soldier hurried from the gym to the locker room, changing his clothes as quickly as possible, and was off to the room which his presence was requested in.

The communication room was a big four-walled room with all said walls having computers on tables standing against them. It didn't have any windows, but large screens that would show the callers face from the perspective of the camera; still, they were usually not used for video conferences anyway. Just for people contacting them, and then the class N-soldiers working in this programming area would tell Red Leader and transfer the call to a more private and official room. Let us just say that... the room was not usually illuminated, and on top of that it was dirty and reeked! Whenever he was in there, he either had a panic attack combined with the urge to see his breakfast a second time on the floor, or he wanted to clean all that was in there for the rest of the week. But RL did not allow that, saying that it was important that they and him were all working on their assigned jobs-- and RL was very dependent off of him. It may be surprising to hear, but most of the work (especially paperwork) got stuck on Patryck, which he did not mind greatly, as he loved filling out documents or seeing after the army's storage contents.

Tord heard the door slide open after someone, preferably Patryck, had set their hand on the little screen next to the door to verify their identity. Upon the visitor speaking up, the tall man could confirm it was who he expected. "Sir, you asked for my presence?", the right-hand man asked in his usual stoic voice. "I certainly did. It came to my attention that someone had been so nice as to...," Tord could not bring himself to say this out loud, finding this scene rather embarrassing in more ways than one. When RL did not tell him, one of the N-class soldiers chose to do so for him: "Someone had changed all our computers' backgrounds." The young man that had answered was short and thin, and wore big round glasses, making him look like a tarsier with the lenses magnifying his eyes behind them. That information appeared rather... unthreatening. Patryck raised a brow and waited for the boy to elaborate, which he did by pulling him to one of the machines by his coats' sleeve. Patryck's cheeks flushed a light pink as he saw what the problem was. What was being displayed on the screen was one of Tord's most prized anime-girl wallpapers, with the person currently being pinned down by some green tentacles. He knew of the existence of said pictures due to his strong connection with Red Leader... and that one time he had walked in during one of the man's private "research-sessions" on his computer. Patryck came to think of it, that he may still have his job just because of that interruption; even though, the Norwegian psychopath could just as easily have killed him. At times, images of Tord's red face and his attempt to hide his heat-searching moisture missile in his pants again crossed his mind and it became a bit more difficult to take the man seriously.

"Well, I suppose we do not know who the culprit is yet, so I advise we check the surveillance systems," Patryck ordered the present soldiers, then turned to the most filthy one that had dared to touch him with his bacteria-infested and grease-covered fingers and said in an almost threatening tone: "And you answer me some of my questions."

Tord saw that Patryck had everything under control again and dismissed himself to check up on his own computer. He suspected a soldier to have gained access to his office and downloaded some data onto an USB. Now it was confusing why they would have only done that with his hentai, but maybe more information would leak soon, which had to be stopped at all costs! His pride, respect, and his whole army were at stake. "Alright, let us get to work and resolve this case before it gets any worse," Patryck said once Tord had left.

A couple soldiers that had heard the man's order had hurried out of the room and went to the surveillance room, where there usually always would be at least one soldier to make sure there were no intruders or maybe even a spy. Upon arriving they saw exactly what they expected: two other soldiers, one a girl with short hair, the other with long blonde hair up in a ponytail. "Can we help you?", the girl with short cut hair asked, knowing these were not people to switch their posts with, let alone they had just started their shift. "Um, uh-", the male soldier stammered, feeling at a total loss when laying eyes on these ladies. He had forgotten what they had come here for, and judging by his stuttering also had abandoned all knowledge of the English language. His coworker was so nice to help him out: "We have been ordered to check the surveillance cameras. Specifically the camera in front of the communication room. Do you know if anyone had entered from about... Henry, when did we leave the room?"

...Oh yeah, they have never left the room while this had happened. Like for the surveillance cameras, there was always at least one person to stay in the room. And the only one who had been alone for five minutes was Ryan, 4 am or so.

"What do you mean it couldn't have been a soldier?", Patryck asked in disbelief when that filthy boy tried to explain to him how this prank could not have been performed at the very crime scene. "Well, there had always been someone in here at all times, just like our job description tells us to. And from what we know there was not one suspicious person to enter the room, nor someone who walked from computer to computer and changed the desktop backgrounds." "Okay then..," Patryck began and waited for the man to introduce himself, "Ryan. Next time, please, wear your name tag! And elaborate what you are talking about! I refuse to tell Red Leader it had been a ghost haunting this room."

The two soldiers that had previously visited the surveillance room came hurrying back in, and announced that there had always been someone in the room, and only once was there one person present: Ryan. Upon hearing that Patryck turned to the guy, leaned down to his height and said in a very calm manner: "Tell me again how it could not have been a soldier, unless you mean yourself in the soon future." He began to sweat and fumbled with his glasses before answering: "It wasn't me! A-admittedly I fell asleep at my computer, and when I-I woke up, there suddenly were all these different p-pictures. I suspected we have been hacked, but--" "HACKED?! How could this have happened? You were ordered to make sure no one was able to do exactly this!" Everyone in the room was getting scared-- it took a bit to get the right-hand man of the great Red Leader angry, and from what it looked like, the usually calm perfectionist was about to lose it.

Patryck grabbed his cellphone and called RL. This problem had to be dealt with as quickly as possible! Who knew what the hacker, or hackers, had already done? All work he had put into this Army would go to waste! He would NOT let this happen. He couldn't.

 

Of course nothing came of it. None of the N-class soldiers managed to find any traces of the guy, no location, no virus, no nothing. Tord was obviously ready to snap and just shoot them all, but Patryck was constantly staying close to him to make sure exactly that would not happen; even if the man was of similar opinion of these incompetent soldiers’ fates.  
Things returned to normal, except the assistant’s daily routine. Now Patryck was not only working on most of Red Leader’s paperwork, keeping his body fit with exercise and making sure his boss was being taken care of properly, he also began to do research to find out how that mysterious hacker got into their systems seemingly so easily.

A few days later he found that there certainly were ways to hack another computer without leaving traces, though apparently only pro-hackers could do so? Well, he supposed one became a pro-hacker once able to do that, and was not a pro to begin with— “No! Patryck, focus!”, he reminded himself, while sitting at his desk in his room, and at his usually rarely used personal laptop. He was exhausted, with dark rings showing under his eyes, and his hair in a mess from constantly running his fingers through them. Suddenly he got up and said out loud to no one in particular: “I’ll get coffee.” He had a small apartment thanks to his high position in the army, and thus did not have to go down to the cafeteria to grab a mug of hot water and caffeine, supposed to keep him up and running for the rest of the day.

In that short amount of time in which he got his drink, something... peculiar happened. On the screen a little note had appeared. He did not remember opening the programme for these funny little post-it notes, but there one was, right before his eyes. He sat down and stared at what was written on it:

 

“Hey, Patryck. Hope you don’t mind me using your first name. I like it.”

 

Patryck was confused. What was he going to do now? Answer? And how was he supposed to answer anyway? “Um.. thanks?” He said unsurely. He hated how confused he was sounding.

 

Hated how the other was in control.


	2. You got a friend request.

 It was the next day. Tord was furious! Who would dare to hack their systems only to mock him? Patryck had told him about his theory of some asshole just coding their way through the Red Army’s firewalls (but had not told him about the mysterious message).

The man was walking up and down his office, cigar held close to his lips. Patryck was present in the room as well, watching as his boss was just holding the lit cigar, stomping around, about to set the cylinder-like tobacco roll to his mouth, and then beginning to rant again; that was almost painful to watch... so frustrating. "This had to be a prank of multiple hackers!", Tord exclaimed, "Our system is way too good to just let some," he tried to find a word that could express his anger, "amateur go through and embarrass me like that!"

"We cannot do much more right now, sir. Let's just make sure to stay alerted and see what happens. All the stress won't do you good," he got up from the comfortable chair in front of Tord's desk and walked over to the irascible man. Patryck began to fix the collar of Tord's coat, then his hair, before finally continuing to talk: "You are the Red Leader. You have to show that some minor incident like that will and cannot shake you in any way!" Tord appeared to be thinking, considering. He took a drag from the cigar, and sighed, letting the smoke blow out through his nose. “You’re right,” he sat down on the leathern chair behind the massive office desk, and put his feet on top of the table. “Let’s wait for the next attack, and then make sure we find some traces to the whereabouts or any information regarding the group,” Patryck offered as a possible solution. Tord glared at the wall. A few minutes passed, then the leader spoke up again: “We should wait for the next time the jerk peeks out their ugly head, and then focus on getting as much information from their traces as possible!” The soldier put away his pen and grabbed his clipboard under his arm. “Good idea, sir. As always you prove to be the true Great Red Leader.” Patryck saluted, and then left the room again.

Maybe that was the right time to bring his boss a good breakfast, to lift the man’s spirits. He called to the cafeteria and asked for the usual oats, fruits and coffee. He was not feeling hungry as usual, and most times just ignored the growing clothes on his body. Just as he was thinking about getting himself a coffee, his stomach growled. "Ugh, can't you shut up? I gave you food just..." it was not today. Yesterday not much either. "Whatever, I shouldn't be talking with my organs anyway." And he just did it again. He knew he did not have time to eat, and he accepted that. After all he had to assist his boss, and that meant setting his own needs aside. And also, the body was inferior to the brain and will of the human; Patryck was convinced that he could control his body's demands, that he always willingly chose to eat, drink, or feel the need to go to the bathroom. After bringing his leader the non-requested meal, and getting scolded for always bringing him the same, he went back to his room to enjoy a quiet workday with some tea, a stress ball, and paperwork. Of course he would not do that all day; after all he still needed to do some research on programming to catch the culprit of that really childish prank.

Even while in the privacy of his own four walls, representing his living room, he was dressed in something rather formal: white button-up shirt, black jeans, and his almost shoulder-long hair back in a bun. "Finally I can do something productive," he sighed, waiting for the water in the kettle to boil, "Red Leader is great, but can waste quite a bit of time." Patryck felt cold. His arms wrapped around himself as a chill forced itself through his body like a wave, from his legs up to his shoulders and down his arms. It could be compared to a strange tingling, which caused him to shiver. It felt like there was a gaping hole in his stomach, and the urge to gag increased dramatically in a short time. The guy leaned forward and held his pounding head. "..It's okay.. some tea will pick me back up", he groaned. The headache subsided again, slowly, and he trusted himself enough to pour the now piping hot water into a prepared mug. He lifted the heavy thing. Something forced his legs to shake, like an unbearable amount of weight had been put on his shoulders, and he saw black spots form in front of his eyes. His attempt to hold onto the counter proved to be useless, and he only realised that his heavy head fell to the floor, a dull pain only coming from that spot, before another sensation was analysed by his brain. "ARGH!", he screeched, quickly jumping away from the hot puddle that had formed underneath him. He had let go of the kettle while.. tripping, and the right side of his face got burned, as well as his right arm. He held back more pained sounds, gritting his teeth. Sharp pain shot from these burned areas. His shirt had damn soaked up the water, too! How long had he laid there for? It couldn’t have been more than two minutes. Patryck ran to the bathroom and pulled off his jeans without trouble, but the button-up clung to his skin. "O-ow... p-please, for God's sake, g-get off!", he yelled. He only felt minor relief when screaming, and saw that he could not take it off himself. His mind was running wild, he was freezing, his heart beating probably 100 miles per hour. 

So he called Tord.

The man was quick to arrive when hearing the other's distressed voice, and entered the bathroom as instructed. Patryck was sitting hunched over on the closed toilet seat, tightly holding his arm. "Herregud," was all he could say upon seeing his assistant's face. "Why haven't you washed off yet?!" Patryck did not answer. He could not let the bathroom or the shirt get dirty, so he wanted to take it off first with his boss' help. "Get in the shower, damnit!"

Patryck listened and stepped into the tub. Tord tried to pull the cloth off the wound, but it seemed like the skin had melted together with the fabric. "Why haven't you called the nurses? This looks horrible!" The soldier hung his head in shame. Fate had reminded him how great of an imperfection he really was. The muscular man began to let cold water run over the injured arm. "Now don't panic, I'll pull it off slowly." And then the agonising sensation started, the nausea coming back at the thought of being skinned alive right now. "Ah! S-stop! Sir, it hurts!" "Shut up!", Tord yelled back, "I'm trying to fix your problem here." Patryck shut up, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He did not want to make his boss angry by being so useless. He was dirty, helpless and weak— all he promised the other not to be when taking the job. Tord just ripped the rest of the fabric off, seeing that the skin looked pretty hopeless, just dangling off the shirt’s sleeve. "O-oh god," Patryck closed his eyes tightly. He could not look at it. He just wanted this pain to be over with, and forget all this happened. He would not forget though. Because he had called Tord, which was unacceptable. His own needs came  second!

”It seems that you got sensitive skin, Pat,” Doctor Andrea smiles reassuringly, “but it’s going to be okay. We can put some ointment on it, the blisters should heal by themselves.” Patryck was sitting on a bed in the infirmary. Tord had called the nurses to inform them about what happened, then his boss had carried him to said room. It was extremely embarrassing with the injured just wearing his undergarments; at least Tord had been understanding enough to grab a towel and wrap his assistant the best he could in it. It was not of much use, as the shame radiated off his red cheeks— and not red from the burns. The stares of some soldiers had made his skin crawl, and awakened an urge in him to shoot himself right there.

And during that hole time he had not been in control of any actions, or his emotions. He had been imperfect.

She sat next to him on the bed and took his hands in her petite ones. "I did notice your weight loss though," the doctor said. The two knew each other, close enough to give nicknames to one another. "Well, you noticed wrong," he replied, and pulled his hands away. He was able to take control again, and suppress the emotions inside him. He was a rational man. He must not let frustration and his own desires get in the way of his tasks. "Thank you for your help, Doctor. I will return to my quarters." He stood up and was about to leave, when the woman handed him a uniform and the ointment with a note. "When you want to talk about what’s going on, you can tell me. Or maybe you would like to request a therapy session?" Patryck just nodded, knowing there was not going to be a discussion about his mental health anytime soon. After putting on the clothes, he went back to his room to put the ointment on. He was afraid of what he was going to see in the mirror.

 

It was as horrible as he had imagined— no! Worse. In his bathroom mirror he saw an ugly pig... this time there were blisters on it. On the right side of his face, there were many little blisters, and one big on his cheek, the length of his pinkie. His arm was bandaged and already taken care of by the nurses. He had been lucky his face had not been skinned like his arm.

He did not enter the kitchen for now, just walked to his computer. Maybe seeing the work he got in front of him would motivate him to do something; a break was not an option.

A little window opened on screen, notifying him he had received an e-mail. He opened it and saw a message, and a little attachment. He certainly would not open that! What if that was a virus?

 

"Hey, there," he read out loud, "not to be creepy, but you don’t look so good. What happened? Are you alright?"

 

"How would they know? Did they.." He looked up and saw the camera on his computer. No way! They were watching him! They saw his breakdown. He covered the damn thing with a piece of paper, and sure enough another e-mail was sent soon after.

 

"Please don’t cover the camera! I swear next time I’ll ask!"

 

Patryck huffed. "I will do as I please, and you have no right to stop me!” He realized that the microphone must have been hacked as well, that way he could hear him rant. He chose to write back, so maybe he could finally find out who that person was. Maybe even message one of the N-class soldiers to track where the e-mail had been sent from.

"Who are you? And why are you messaging me so privately?" He sent the mysterious hacker.

"Not to be blunt, but I like you. I have watched you for a bit now, and finally gotten myself to send you a note."

"That was rather blunt."

"Yeah. Anyways, I would like you to not tell anyone yet. Also, I sent you a little gift. It’s the attachment. I hope you like it."

Patryck would usually not be so curious as to risk his laptop getting destroyed, but he "trusted" that person, whoever they were. It surely could not have been the concern they were showing, they did not know him, so why should they care? He clicked on the attached data. A window popped up and a little animation showed. It was him, smiling and carefreely swinging his hair back with his hand. It looked great. A block of text was being pulled into the screen by a chubby figure. They had noticeable eyebrows, otherwise they looked normal— if not a bit hairy. The text read 'Friend request'. Two circles appeared over the words, one saying 'accept', the other 'refuse'. He did not need friends!

 

How bold of them to assume he wanted any.


	3. The beauty and the beast

Admittedly... Patryck had accepted the request. Not because he wanted to, of course! He had to. In order to find out more about this hacker, he had to gain their trust, and then squeeze out as much information as possible.

He had been sent quite a few more animations, and more messages the past days. A few of these messages were attempts in poetry, which he found almost ridiculous, and at times even giggled at a couple lines that included his appearance and a silly comparison. Usually he would not fall for such lies, knowing of his dreadful looks, but they seemed so sincere. Attempts of containing his expressive happiness proved futile, which sometimes got him so angry he would hit or pinch himself hard, teaching his brain to not show emotions. These training-methods of his resulted in a few bruises, but he could always tell he had been a little clumsy-- but normally no one asked, so there was barely anything preventing him from harming... teaching himself.

This "official" case took up quite some time. Patryck noticed himself spending much time at his computer or his non-business phone to write with this man. Yes, he found out the hacker was a man, and he also knew his name. Paul. He only knew his first name, and also had not yet seen him in person, nor on screen. There were only hints in these animations, but he ho knew if he really looked like that?

Patryck was sitting in the cafeteria at a table near the windows. His phone was being held in his thin right hand, a coffee mug in the other. Paul and him were writing about proper eating habits. One could guess who was for a little treat once in a while, whilst the other opinion swayed towards top healthy foods and then the right nutrients.

"The food does not have any value to your body."

"Not everything has to make sense all the time"

The soldier did not understand how one could base their decisions on feelings and emotions. You not only did not get any energy from fast food, but one could also gain weight when consuming too much, which can lead to a poor self-image and depression.

"Patryck," he heard an agitated voice call, and in the next moment he felt the table shake a little. Red Leader had taken a seat in front of him, and was not looking happy. "Patryck, what are you doing here? You are supposed to work, and not type something on your phone all day!", the Great Leader scolded, making the other feel like he had just fucked something up. His gaze dropped, but face remaining expressionless. He was not sure how to answer, as his boss was right; he was slacking. "I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what had gotten into me." Tord crossed his arms, signalling there was not going to be much of a dialogue here.

"You don’t know? Well, then you better find out soon! The paperwork and all the documents are piling up in my office, today I was not even served breakfast, yesterday also no lunch or dinner, and I did not hear ANY news of this hacker you apparently wanted to catch." Red Leader was angry. Patryck was not trying to talk his way out of the situation. He knew he had done wrong. He should have told Tord about these messages, and not started forming this relationship without him knowing. Not that he liked Paul. He did not, by any means! He probably was only using him anyway to get his trust... now Patryck felt angry. "Sir," he stood up with much more of his old confidence just before meeting this mysterious man, and walked over to Tord. He sat down next to him and showed him the e-mails he had received.

"These are messages I have been receiving and sending to the hacker. I found out they are male, and their first name is Paul. The fact that he hacked our systems, and his writing style alone indicate that he is not a child, but I would also say he is not over 40 years old. There are a few animations and drawing he sent me, but I am not sure if these are a proper depiction of him." Even if Patryck found that Paul was not writing like a young child would, the man was being pretty childish sometimes. Goofy.

"This is very good. We could try to find out where he hides by—" Tord started, but was interrupted by Patryck, "we could ask the N-class soldiers to find out about where the e-mails had been opened." Tord glared at his assistant, who looked back, seemingly confused. With little hesitation, the Red Leader grabbed Patryck’s hair with his robotic arm and slammed him face-first against the top of the table. The pain was only analyzed by his brain a few seconds later, as it was such a surprise. He saw red for a moment and then he heard something crack, with warm fluid running down his nose shortly after.

He gasped quietly and whipped his head back to get away from the hard material he just bumped against, and grabbed his nose. The slightest touch caused a sharp pulse to run through his face, with the source being his schnoz. "S-Sir?", he asked, his eyes tearing slightly as a reaction to the assault just now. "You better not interrupt me again, Patryck,” his boss whispered into his ear. People had seen just now, but no one was dumb enough to interfere or say anything. Red Leader was allowed to do everything he wanted with him. "I'm sorry, Red Leader, sir," Patryck apologised, gratefully taking the handkerchief offered by Tord. "I will wash it and give it back to you as soon as possible, sir." The other only stood up and walked off, his last words being "you better."

 

Finding Paul was not hard. The soldiers, Patryck had ordered to track down his "friend", had been surprisingly efficient and fast-- they were working together on it in a team of 3 though. He did not know why, but also did not care much. What was important right now, was to finally go into that filthy-looking apartment complex and look for Paul's room. Alone. Two more soldiers in civic clothes were waiting in the car to drive them back to the airport.

He sighed, looking up into the night sky. Was it just him, or did the stars in England look much brighter? In moments as these he wished to smoke, ignoring all health implications that might follow. It always looked so cool in movies, but he was not like that. He would never look cool, no matter what he did. What was he missing then? What did he not have? He had a great job, a fit and healthy body, the perfect personality...

Patryck had entered the complex by picking the lock, not feeling like alerting the searched-for man by ringing the bell, potentially giving him time to flee. Not that Paul could get away -- he would find him -- but it would save him much time and trouble. Before he had entered the building though, he had taken a look at the names next to the doorbells; Paul Hightower was on the 7th floor. His breath was shallow. He was nervous, his clammy hands and quickened heartbeat being enough signs for him. With a slightly shaking finger he pressed the button on the elevator to go up to the requested floor, but the damn thing would not close its doors or move in any way. The stairs it had to be then.

"I... hate... stairs..," he groaned when finally reaching the top of the 7th floor, pressing a hand against his chest. No matter how well he ate, stairs were a natural enemy to him. He found the door, and at first just stared at it. Why did he feel nervous? There was nothing to be nervous or anxious about, this was a regular mission. Patryck raised his fist to knock on the door, but stopped just before his knuckles hit the wooden material. There was an odd sound coming from the other side. Carefully the man pressed his ear against the door, hoping to satisfy his curiosity that way.

"Gotta make a move to a town that's right for me  
Town to keep me movin'  
Keep me groovin' with some energy"

Was that some kind of code? A secret system to alert the hacker's bodyguards?

"Won't you take me to  
Funkytown"

Oh, someone's singing! It did not sound bad, but one could tell the person was not a professional... Patryck liked it.

 

Paul was dancing and singing while just in his boxers. Today was a nice day for him, with his mom bringing over home-made cookies, and a new computer game! He loved being the birthday kid. He had not celebrated it with others though. He actually longed to spend the time with the cute guy from Norway.. or in Norway. He did not know if he CAME from there. But he had suddenly stopped writing him after about noon, and was thus left to entertain himself until his crush was there for him again. He did not have work today at the coffee shop, and there was no freelance work to be done, so what was there to do?

VIDEO GAMING!

Let us just say he got a bit.. distracted once the song "funky town" came on the radio that played in the background, after hours of playing the new game he had gotten.

It had been great fun annoying this weird dictator planning to take over the world. He would go ahead and save the world if the state would hire him, but they have not yet shown their faces, so he was not doing any attempts other than pranks. Then he had began to watch this man work around the base, act so sophisticated and cool and... Paul did not know what had gotten over him, except LOVE. This man was just so cute, let alone his voice, and his eyes! How he would sometimes glare at him through the camera; just how strong his heart would beat.

'Knock knock', it came from the door. He did not want to get caught with murder today, having opened the door to old lady Johnson with just his undergarments, so he quickly yelled "be right there", and rushed to his closet to fish out a black shirt with a tie and a bit of a white button-up shirt printed on it, and jeans.

"Hel-," Paul greeted, but quickly shut up when he saw who paid him a visit. "Patryck? Oh man, this is the best birthday ever!" He threw his fists in the air, then pulled the taller one in a warm embrace. How did he know where he lived? Whatever, this was just too awesome. After a few seconds he stepped back to actually show manners and let the guest into his apartment. "Woah, what happened to your nose?"

"I am not here to chit-chat," the other stated, and subconsciously touched his nose. "I am here to.. to.."

"To what?" Paul asked, wondering what was wrong. Patryck suddenly fell forward, and Paul was quick to catch him, now holding the unconscious guy in his arms. He may not have been the healthiest or strongest, but he was not weak either. He could be considered burly, with a bit more chub; so he carried the skinny man to his bed. "Jesus, you're way too light for your height." He had basically watched him lose weight through the camera, and never saw him eat. He was not anorexic, was he?

 

Patryck slowly regained consciousness. How long was he out this time? Where was he? "Hey, take it easy. No quick moves," he heard a male voice instruct. He opened his eyes to meet Paul's, and he sat up like a cat being attacked by cheese. He had not just passed out in front of a potential threat, had he?

"I said NO quick moves."

"Why didn't you attack me?" Patryck was honestly confused. He was here to kidnap him! Well, he had not really told him, had he?

"Attack you? I wouldn't do that! You suddenly collapsed, so I brought you inside and made you some tea. Here." Paul handed him a cup. Was it poisoned? He took a sip regardless of his suspicion. "Has that happened before?" the hacker asked, and Patryck found himself look down in shame. Why did he not just lie? The man surely did not give a shit about him.

"I think I know why this happens, Patryck. You don't eat properly. I never saw you eat much, just saw you drink coffee constantly. I can tell you, this stuff cannot replace the nutrition you need, and for someone who tried to teach me proper ways of eating, you aren't really being a shining example yourself."

"I... I just don't have time!" he defended himself with a loud voice, "and what do you care? It's not like you know anything of me and the work I accomplish everyday!" 

Being questioned in his believes and doings was bad, with all the faults it had, only held together by the lies he told himself all the time. Why did he cry? Hot tears ran down his cheeks, and the cup of tea was taken away to be replaced by Paul's hands. "It's okay, I believe whatever work you is difficult and you still manage, but when I saw you through the camera, it was as if you were wasting away, and it hurt me to see you like that." 

"We have not even met before, so why do you care?"

"Because we're friends. And friends care for another." Patryck watched Paul reach over to a plate with cookies and hand him one, and with the current emotional distress going on inside of him, he actually accepted. "T-thanks." It tasted so good when he took a bite between sobs. So flavourful and as if love was put into it. "I understand if you don't want to tell me what's bugging you, Patryck. I guess we do barely know each other in that way, but if you ever feel like it, then just tell me," Paul offered. A few seconds passed, then he spoke up again: "So, why exactly are you here again?" "I am supposed to bring you back to my boss' base. He's pretty angry about you hacking into our systems," the soldier answered, finally beginning to calm down again.

"My goodness, what have you done to your room?! It's so... DIRTY!" He had laid on that dirty bed, and drunken tea from a possibly used mug. "Hehe, you should see my whole apartment.. actually, when I see your panicked expression, I don't think you should." Paul pulled Patryck back down on the mattress after the other had stood up in shock. Paul's skin felt so warm, and his hands were so strong. His face was a bit chubby, but what was most notable were his eyes; those warm brown eyes, with chocolate coloured eyebrows over them, giving him an almost serious look, if it weren't for his smooth facial structures. His hair was not unkempt, so these cute light curls were probably naturally, and not from just sleeping eight hours in a bed. The stubble was usually not something Patryck preferred. He found beards and all before that quite unhygienic, but this guy made it look really good for some reason. He wondered how a beard would look on him. He was comparable to one of those bears, with all this chub, and the muscles hidden underneath. Compared to him he was just a stick... alright, compared to almost anyone he was a stick.

He had wasted enough time here, having been passed out and all. Just as the soldier was about to declare their immediate departure (before falling further into this hypnosis he could not explain), the two heard gunshots from outside.


End file.
